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Copyright , 1908 

By Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. 


Published, September, 1908 


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jj \svo C ' W Received 

I JUL. 25 1908 

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THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 


To one woman who said 
“ I go not ” ; hut after- 
wards repented and went 





Cfje l(HXj)ccIs of Ctme 



JJHE doctor stood, with his hand on the 
doorknob, looking back into his wife’s 
boudoir. 

There was nothing in that room sug- 
gestive of town or of town life and work — deli- 
cate green and white, a mossy carpet, masses of 
spring flowers; cool, soft, noiseless, fragrant. 

Standing in the doorway the doctor could hear the 
agitated clang of the street-door bell, Stoddart cross- 
ing the hall, the opening and closing of the door, and 
Stoddart’s subdued and sympathetic voice saying, 
“ Step this way, please.” A heavy, depressed foot 
or an anxious, hurried one, according to the mental 
condition of its owner, obeyed ; and the shutting of 
the library door meant another patient added to the 
number of those who were already listlessly turning 
over the pages of bound volumes of Punch or scru- 
tinizing with unseeing eyes the Landseer engraving 
over the mantelpiece. 

In former days the waiting-room used to be the 
doctor’s dining-room, but before he married his 
pretty wife she put her foot down firmly on this 
[71 



Wq t OTfjeete of Qtim 

question. He had been explaining the Wimpole 
Street house and its arrangements as they stood 
together in her sunny rose-garden. 

“ But, Deryck,” she had exclaimed in dismay, 
waving her hands at him, full of a great mass of 
freshly gathered roses, “ I could not possibly sit 
down and dine with you in a room where your 
horrible patients have sat waiting for hours, leaving 
behind them the germs of all their nasty, infectious 
diseases ! ” 

The doctor caught the little hands, roses and all, 
and held them against his breast, looking down into 
her face with laughing eyes. 

“ Flower,” he said, “ my lovely, fragrant Flower! 
Am I doing a foolish thing in attempting to trans- 
plant you into the soil of busy London life ? Should 
I not do better if I left you in your rose-garden? 
Ah, well, it is too late to ask that now ; I can’t leave 
Wimpole Street, and ” — his voice, always deep, 
suddenly thrilled to a deeper depth ; a tenderness of 
strong passion quivered in it — “I can’t live with- 
out you.” He let go her hands and framed her 
upturned face in his strong, brown fingers. 

“ What have you done to me, Flower ? I was 
always self-contained and self-sufficing, and now I 
find I can’t live without you, Flower — my Flower.” 

[ 8 ] 


Cfje OTfjeete of Gftme 

His eyes glowed down into her face. She looked 
up sweetly at him. 

“ But, Deryck,” she said, “ they do leave the germs 
of all their nasty infections — ” 

The doctor’s hands fell suddenly to his sides. 

“ My dear child,” he said, and his voice instantly 
regained its usual evenness of tone, “ have I not told 
you that I am a mind specialist ? The people who 
come to my consulting- room are not, as a rule, 
suffering from measles, scarlet fever, or smallpox ! ” 

“Oh, well, they leave their dreadful morbid 
thoughts behind them ; and that is worse. I could 
not dine in a room where diseased minds have sat 
for hours, brooding. It would give me creeps. 
And oh, Deryck, you know that stupid article you 
read me the other day, about how mental impressions, 
when a mind was highly strung or unbalanced, could 
leave an impress upon walls or furniture — explaining 
ghost stories, you know ? — I forget who wrote it. 
... You did ? My dear boy, how clever of you ! . . . 
Oh, no ! How can you say I called it ‘ stupid ’ ? Or 
if I did, I meant * interesting,’ of course. See how 
well I remembered it, though you thought I was 
not listening, because I had to keep counting the 
stitches in the heel of your golf stockings, you un- 
grateful man ! And I am certain you are right about 
19 ] 


T&\ )t OTfjeete of fEmte 

horrible thoughts sticking to furniture. And how- 
ever well Stoddart arranged the room he couldn’t 
sweep them away, and we should sit at dinner 
surrounded by them — oh, Deryck, surrounded /” 
Her lovely eyes looked widely at him, over the 
gathered roses. 

The doctor laughed. It is so easy to a man to 
laugh before marriage. 

“ All right, Flower,” he said. “ There is nothing 
like convincing a fellow with his own arguments. 
We will remodel the house. 1 ’ll talk it over with 
Hunt. You shall have dining-room, drawing-room, 
and boudoir, all on the first floor, and I and my 
freaks will have the run of the ground floor. You 
will need only to pass through the hall to go in and 
out of the house. So, if they drop their poor minds 
about, you will not come across them. Now, choose 
me that promised buttonhole, and then let us come 
down to the stream. I don’t like a rose-garden 
when half the windows of the house overlook it ! ” 
This was seven years ago, and it now sometimes 
seemed to Dr. Brand as if his tall Wimpole Street 
house represented in its stories the various portions 
of the human anatomy ; absolutely distinct in them- 
selves, but held together and kept going by the 
brain ; the ever-busy brain controlling all. 

[ 10 ] 


Qfot OTfjeete of Zimt 

His wife’s apartments on the first floor; his life 
with her there, into which his professional interests 
were so rarely allowed to intrude; certainly they 
represented the heart of things ; the man’s whole 
heart rested and centred there. 

The floor above was given up to the nurseries, 
and there, already, two pairs of little feet pattered 
ceaselessly, and merry voices shouted clear and 
gleeful, and a little flower-faced girl peeped down 
at him through the balustrade, and a small boy, 
gazing earnestly with dark, steadfast eyes into the 
interior of a jumping rabbit which refused to jump, 
reproduced absurdly his own intent professional 
manner. 

In the basement were the kitchens, and he was as 
ignorant of them as, he reflected with a smile, every 
perfectly healthy man should be of the digestive 
organs of his own anatomy. 

Then on the ground floor, between the life below- 
stairs and the life above, but generating the needful 
supplies to keep the whole establishment going, 
dwelt the Brain — his brain, his untiring, ever- 
growing capacity for hard work, represented by his 
consulting-room, where so many strenuous hours 
were spent, and the old dining-room, now called the 
library where an ever-increasing number of patients 

In] 


Otye OTfjeete of Gftme 

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waited daily. This floor of his life was practically 
unshared by any, excepting the faithful and punc- 
tilious old butler, whose monotonous “Step this 
way, sir,” “ Please to step this way, ma’am ” 
served to punctuate the departure of one case and 
the arrival of the next. 

Sometimes the desire to share the interest of this 
ever-varying daily work with another gripped him 
in the throes of its human necessity. When his 
deep, penetrating eyes had been long bent upon the 
shifting, shuffling mind of a patient, at last piercing 
with tender mercilessness to the very core of that 
mind’s malady; when his quick brain had grasped 
the case in all its bearings, and his magnificent will- 
power had compelled the shaken soul to see things 
as he saw them, to believe things as he believed 
them, to face the future as the future alone could 
rightly be faced ; when his inspiring enthusiasm and 
belief in God and life and human nature had set 
that mental cripple on his feet or loosed the bands 
which had bound some poor “ daughter of Abraham, 
— lo, these eighteen years”; when, conducted by 
Stoddart’s mechanical “ Step this way,” they passed 
out from his consulting- room to tread with new 
hopes the path of a new life, he would stride to his 
window, squaring his shoulders, and taking in a deep 
[ 12 ] 


GT1 )t Wifynbi of Utimt 


breath of fresh air, he would say, “God, what a 
victory! I must tell Flower.” 

But once in Flower’s boudoir, with a dainty china 
teacup in his hand and a muffin on his knee, hearing 
the blissful details of Blossom’s new syllable, or 
Dicky’s latest development, or Flower’s own trium- 
phal progress through the Park in the new motor-car, 
somehow the story of the strenuous fight, the hopeful 
victory, seemed out of place. This was the home 
of feeling ; thought must not intrude. This was 
the domain of trivialities; the great issues of life 
must hide in the background. This was the home 
of the Heart ; the Brain must abide below. 

Yet matrimony and motherhood had done much 
to deepen Flower. The linking with his nature; 
the having perforce to awaken in order to meet 
and satisfy the deep needs of his overmaster- 
ing love ; the constant example of his unselfish 
nobility, singleness of purpose, and high ideal of 
life ; and, above all, the pangs and joys of mother- 
hood; all these had made of the wilful, wayward 
little Flower of the rose-garden a sweet and gracious 
woman ; in outward face and form more exquisite 
than ever, and in the hidden part an awakening 
soul, which needed only an hour of deep agony, 
a tearing away of the flimsy veil of selfishness and 
[ 13 ] 


QZfje OTdjeete of Ctme 

conventionality now stifling it to bring it to the 
birth. 

But that time of pain and stress came not to 
Flower, because the strong, shielding love of a man 
was always around her, and his care warded off the 
very thing which alone could have brought about 
his comfort and her completion. And yet he was 
dimly conscious of a gradual growth in her, and 
sometimes, half wistfully, he called her “ Mary,” 
that name so sacred to perfect motherhood, and 
which had seemed such an incongruous gift from 
her sponsors to his Flower of the rose-garden. 
***** 

On this particular morning, when the doctor stood 
at the door looking into the boudoir, Flower was 
bending over a huge bowl of daffodils, arranging 
each golden trumpet to her liking. 

The spring sunshine came glancing through the 
window and touched her hair to the gold of the 
blossoms. The doctor noted this, and a sudden 
look of adoration softened the cool clearness of 
his eyes. 

The baby’s godmother, on this last day of her 
visit, sitting by the fire with her feet on the fen- 
der, opening and smoothing a copy of the Times , 
glanced up, past the sunshine and the daffodils, saw 

[ 14 ] 


flflfje OTfjeete of Game 

that look, and promptly retired behind a leading 
article. 

The baby’s godmother was a perfectly beautiful 
woman in an absolutely plain shell, but, unfor- 
tunately, no man had yet looked beneath the shell 
and seen the woman herself in her perfection. 
She would have made earth heaven for a blind 
lover who, not having eyes for the plainness of 
her face or the massiveness of her figure, might 
have drawn nearer and apprehended the wonder of 
her as a woman ; experiencing the wealth of tender- 
ness of which she was capable, the blessed comfort 
of the shelter of her love, the perfect comprehension 
of her sympathy, the marvellous joy of winning 
and wedding her. But as yet no blind man with 
far-seeing vision had come her way, and it always 
seemed to be her lot to take a second place on 
occasions when she would have filled the first to 
infinite perfection. 

She had been bridesmaid at the doctor’s wedding, 
to whom she would have made a wife such as 
Flower, develop as she might, could never be. Be- 
sides, she was godmother to the baby — she whose 
arms ached for motherhood itself and whose 
motherliness would have been a thing for men to 
kneel down and worship. She found her duties as 
[ 15 ] 


OT&eete of fEtme 

godmother to various babies consisted chiefly in 
praying that the foolish mistakes made by their 
parents might be overruled by an all-wise Providence 
and work out somehow to their ultimate good. 

She had a glorious voice; but her face, not 
matching it, its existence was rarely suspected ; and 
as she accompanied to perfection, she was usually in 
requisition to play for the singing of others. Only 
once, at a concert where the principal songstress 
failed at the last moment, she volunteered to fill the 
empty place, and walked to the piano, when the 
moment came, in the double capacity of singer and 
accompanist. How she “ brought down the house ” 
on this occasion, and how a blind man’s eyes were 
opened, belongs to another story. 

Meanwhile she was a woman of tact, and when 
she perceived how the doctor was momentarily 
dazzled by the sunlight and the gold, she retired, 
obviously, behind the Himes leader. 

“ Darling,” said the doctor, “ I am wired for to 
Brighton, in consultation over a very important case. 
I must go down by an afternoon train, and I doubt 
if I can get back to-night.” 

“ How tiresome, Deryck ! It is Myra’s reception 
this evening, and I promised to bring you with me. 
I shall hate going alone. However, 1 suppose it 
[ 16 ] 


)t OTfjeete of Cime 

cannot be helped. Did you ever see such daffodils ? 
It makes one long to be back in the woods at 
home.” 

The doctor hesitated. Downstairs the bell rang 
again, the hall door opened and closed, Stoddart 
said, “Step this way, sir.” 

“ Flower,” said the doctor, “ I have a jolly little 
plan for to-night. I want you to come to Brighton 
with me. We will put up at the Metropole and 
have a real good time. I ought to be able to get 
back to you there soon after seven, and we can have 
dinner and go on the pier afterwards and watch the 
moonlight on the sea. Or, if you prefer something 
more lively, there is a good concert on in the Dome. 
I will telephone for seats. It is a long while since 
we heard any music together.” 

He stopped, rather breathlessly. 

The front doorbell rang again. 

The doctor’s wife took out a daffodil and replaced 
it to better advantage. Then she looked up with an 
exquisite smile. 

“ Dearest, you are so amusing with your sudden 
plans! It sounds delightful, of course. I love 
Brighton in spring. I shall never forget driving 
along the King’s Road in the sunshine, with a huge 
bunch of violets on my muff. It was too heavenly! 

1 * 7 } 


W&t OTfjeete of Qtimt 

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Early March, and the whole place seemed to sing of 
how summer was coming ! But we cannot always 
do what we like. I must look in at Myra’s party, 
and I should really have thought you might have 
got back in time. If you appeared at eleven, it 
would do.” 

The doctor’s face, against the pale green wood- 
work of the door, suddenly looked rather worn and 
thin. 

“ I am afraid I could not get back, Flower,” he 
said. “ I may have to put in a second visit in the 
morning. And — darling — I want you to-night. 
This case will be rather a strain. It will be just 
everything to have you down there to come back 
to. The moment it is over 1 shall remember you 
are waiting for me.” 

The baby’s godmother looked up quietly over the 
Times. She had heard the tone in his voice and 
she saw on his face just what she expected to see. 
Notwithstanding his forty years, despite his brilliant 
powers, his ceaseless energy, he looked at that 
minute like a tired child, just needing to be gathered 
into a loving woman’s arms and hushed to rest. 
He was facing, beforehand, what he would be feel- 
ing after the strain was over. He was yearning for 
the love and companionship, dreading the soli- 
[ 18 ] 


)t OTfjeete of Cime 


tude and loneliness. The baby’s godmother knew 
exactly what he needed. She awaited Flower’s 
reply. 

“ Who is * the case,’ Deryck ? ” 

The doctor hesitated an instant, then named a 
name so widely known that the baby’s godmother 
bounded in her chair. 

“ My dear Deryck,” she cried, “ if you are success- 
ful there it means fame — world-wide! Oh, what 
can we do to help? Must you see patients this 
morning ? ” 

The doctor smiled. 

“ I must, Jeanette, unless you will see them for 
me. But work fits me for work. It is only after 
it is all over one feels a bit tired sometimes.” He 
looked at Flower. “Well, sweet? Can you be 
ready at two o’clock sharp ? ” 

“Dear,” she said, “1 am so sorry, but I can’t 
see my way clear about going with you to-day. 
If only it had been to-morrow! Nurse has asked 
to go out to tea and to stay the evening, and I 
promised to have the children down longer than 
usual. Of course there is Emma, and Marsdon 
could help. But 1 should not feel easy about it. 
And I promised Dicky and Blossom we would have 
all the stuffed animals out and play menagerie. I 
[ 19 ] 


)t OTfjeete of Gftme 

never can feel it right to disappoint little children. 
And you know you often say to me yourself, ‘If 
you have promised them a thing, keep to it at all 
costs.’ Besides, there is Myra’s tiresome ‘ at home ’ 
to consider. Really, Deryck, I don’t see how 1 can 
be away to-day.” 

“ All right, Flower,” the doctor said quietly. “ I 
am sorry I bothered you by proposing it. Don’t 
expect me up to lunch. Every moment will be full 
this morning. Stoddart will put some sandwiches 
in my bag. Good-bye.” 

The door closed behind him. They heard his 
quick step on the stairs and the consulting-room 
door shut sharply. 

The baby’s godmother laid down the Times , 
folded her skirt back over her knees, and stirred 
the fire with her shoe. 

Flower sighed. 

“ Deryck really is trying,” she said. 

The baby’s godmother bit her lip. She had 
found that she could help the doctor’s wife best N 
by never contradicting her. 

“Very clever people usually are trying,” she re- 
marked after a pause, “to those who have to live 
with them.” 

Flower wheeled round and looked at her. 

[ 20 ] 


fEfje WfyttH of QTtme 


“ My good Jane, I don’t know what you mean ! 
Deryck is perfect to live with, perfect ! Have you 
stayed here ten days without finding that out ? He 
is only trying when he swoops down upon me 
with a sudden plan and expects me to be ready 
to rush away with him at a moment’s notice. If 
he had let me know yesterday it might have been 
managed.” 

“ I gathered he only knew himself this morning.” 

“ That has nothing whatever to do with it. The 
crux of the whole matter is that / had promised 
nurse she should have the evening, and I cannot 
leave the children with nurse away.” 

The baby’s godmother bent over the grate, took 
up the poker, and carefully built a little castle of 
molten coal in the very heart of the bright fire. 
Her hands looked strong and firm and very cap- 
able. Her face flushed as she bent over the glowing 
flame. 

The doctor’s wife, cool and dainty, put masses of 
early white lilacs into a tall crystal vase. 

Silence reigned. 

The clock struck eleven. 

Then the baby’s godmother laid down the fire- 
iron and began to speak, her hands clasped firmly 
around her large knees. 

[ 21 ] 


)t OTfjeete of Qftme 

“Flower, when a man such as your husband 
wants you, you should leave every thing — every- 
thing — to go to him. What are social engagements 
and servants’ plans, ay, even children, compared 
with the needs of such a man as Deryck ? Oh, my 
dear, couldn’t you hear the appeal in his voice? 
It was like the cry of a tired child in the dark, 
groping for its resting-place, which just wants lifting 
up into its mother’s arms and hushing to sleep. 
Strong man though he is — and I suppose you and 
I can hardly realize how strong he is when coping 
with the great needs of others — he will always be 
a boy where he loves. He is so young in heart, so 
eternally, passionately young. He wants mothering 
just now. He is doing the work of three men, and 
doing it at high pressure. I hear of it from outside, 
as perhaps you cannot. And when the day is over 
he needs a place of rest — a tender, understanding 
place of rest, where he can talk or be silent, sleep or 
wake, as the fancy takes him, but where he will 
never be left alone to live again through the happen- 
ings of the day, too tired to escape them. And oh, 
Flower, you, and you alone, can do this for him. 
Shall I tell you? I know half-a-dozen women at 
least who would throw over social engagements, 
leave husbands, children, everything, and go down 
[ 22 ] 


tKfje OTfjeete of Gftme 

to stay at Brighton or anywhere else on the chance 
of five minutes’ conversation with Deryck, or of his 
needing, at the moment, a comrade and friend.” 

“ Horrid creatures ! ” cried Flower, mockingly, 
“ their husbands ought to have something to say to 
them for running after mine. * I wonder a proper 
person like you, Jane, is not ashamed to talk of 
them. And you need not try to make me jealous. 
It is one of my theories that only small minds are 
jealous. I have always stood far above the feeling.” 

“ I know, dear, I know,” said the baby’s god- 
mother, hastily. “ I had not the faintest hope of 
making you jealous. Besides, why should you be ? 
Deryck has never looked twice at any woman but 
you. We all know that.” 

Flower laid down her scissors and came and knelt 
on the hearthrug, mollified and a little wistful. 
She spread out her damp hands to the blaze and 
looked up into the baby’s godmother’s plain face 
with a mischievous, inquisitive smile. 

“Do you know, Jane,” she said, “I have some- 
times wondered — you seem to know each other so 
intimately — whether in the long ago days, before 
he met me, Deryck ever proposed to you ? ” 

The baby’s godmother laughed, and again stirred 
the fire with her toe. 


[ 23 ] 


Wyt OTfjeete of Gftme 


“ Well, my dear, you may rest assured he never 
did so, for the most conclusive of all reasons, — I 
should not have refused him.” 

Flower laughed gaily. 

“ Good old Jane,” she said, “ I do enjoy talking 
to you, you are so deliciously unconventional.” 
Then, more soberly, “ It is not fair that you should 
think I do not take proper care of Deryck and do 
not suffer during his absences. 1 go through perfect 
agonies of mind during the long hours of the night, 
when he is tearing down from Scotland by the mail 
train. I keep waking and thinking how bumpy it 
must be to lie along the seat of a railway carriage. 
He never will take a sleeper. And I lie and think 
of all the signal-men who hold his life in their 
hands, and hope they don’t drink.” Flower’s voice 
trembled with emotion. “After reading about all 
those fearful railway smashes lately, I wrote on the 
back of one of his visiting cards : In case of acci- 
dent, wire at once to Mrs. Deryck Brand , Wimpole 
Street, London , W. I put it into his pocketbook, 
and it comforts me to know it is always upon him.” 

The lovely eyes of the doctor’s wife were wet. 
Her lashes glistened in the firelight. The baby’s 
godmother stooped and took up the poker, then 
laid it down again, unused. 

[ 24 ] 


Cf )t Witytl* of Ctme 


“ Well, Flower,” she said at length, very de- 
liberately, “ and suppose an accident happened 
and they wired to you ? What would you do ? ” 
“Do?” exclaimed the doctor’s wife, her lovely 
eyes dilating. “ Why, go to him, of course ! ” 

“ But supposing nurse happened to be out ? Or 
you had people coming to tea? Or you had 
promised the children — ” 

“Jane, Jane, how odious you are! None of 
those things would matter, of course. If he were 
hurt or ill, nothing could keep me from his side. I 
should not even stop to pack. I should fly . . . 
What? . . . Well, I might let Marsdon pack a 
handbag, but I should certainly catch the first 
possible train.” 

The baby’s godmother stooped for the poker once 
more, and this time she assaulted the dying embers 
vigorously, remarking in a muffled voice : “ Yes, I 
think a handbag would be wise. Decidedly, I would 
have Marsdon and a handbag in the programme.” 
Then, suddenly dropping the poker with a clatter, she 
caught Flower’s fluttering hands in hers and held them 
firmly, looking searchingly into her upturned face. 

“ Ah, child, child ! You remind me of the story 
of a white rose-tree. Sit down for five minutes 
while I tell it to you. 


[ 25 ] 


OTfjeete of Cime 


“ Two friends of mine have a lovely little place 
in Hertfordshire. She — Sybel — takes a great 
delight in her garden, particularly in growing roses. 
They had one tiny girl of four years old, rightly 
named Angela — the sweetest little angel -child I 
ever beheld. I ran down to them for one night last 
June. Sybel and I were having tea in the garden, 
close to a magnificent white rose-tree, a mass of 
fragrant bud and blossom. Sybel was very proud 
of it. Presently we heard little dancing feet down 
the gravel path behind us, and the baby -girl 
appeared. She stood gravely contemplating us at 
tea, not asking for anything. Sybel is a great dis- 
ciplinarian. Suddenly the baby eyes fell upon the 
rose-tree, and a wistful look of longing passed into 
them. She drew close to Sybel and looked plead- 
ingly up into her face. ‘ Oh, mummie, they are so 
lubly ! May I pick one of your roses ? ’ ‘ Certainly 
not/ said Sybel. ‘ How often am I to tell you, baby, 
that you are never to pick flowers in the garden! 
Run along to nurse, and don’t be troublesome.’ 

“ The baby said no more, but I saw the little 
mouth droop and quiver. The small feet trailed 
slowly away over the grass, all the dance gone out 
of them ; and Sybel gave me a long dissertation on 
the bringing up of children and the importance of 
[ 26 ] 


Ki)t OTfjeete of fEtme 

checking their natural tendency to destructiveness, 
my only reply being, I am afraid, ‘ What on earth 
is the good of a garden full of flowers if your own 
baby can’t gather and enjoy them!’ To which 
Sybel made answer : ‘ It is just as well, my dear 
Jane, that you remain unmarried. You would 
hopelessly spoil your children if you had any.’ 

“ With that we laughed and ceased sparring ; 
for Sybel is a good sort and was a devoted 
mother, provided her little child pleased her in 
all things.” 

The baby’s godmother paused a moment, as if 
mentally reviewing a scene and seeking for words 
in which to describe it. Then she leaned forward, 
with her arms upon her knees and her hands 
clasped in front of her, and as she spoke, slowly 
and quietly, she kept her eyes fixed upon those 
firmly folded hands. 

‘‘Three weeks later I was wired for, to go 
back there and comfort a despairing, childless 
mother. 

“ When poor Sybel took me up to see the little 
body, it lay upon the bed, smothered in white roses 
— roses in the little hands, roses round the tiny feet, 
snowy petals framing the baby face, now whiter 
than the whitest rose. When I saw them, and when 

[ 27 ] 


®f )t OTfjeete of Qtim 


poor Sybel fell on her knees at the foot of the little 
bed and moaned in anguish of heart, I knew why 
she had sent for me. 

“ ‘ Oh, Jane/ she said, * Jane ! You remember ? 
She wanted one white rose, just one , and I would 
not let her have it. Oh, my baby, my baby ! * 

“ ‘ Sybel, dear/ I said helplessly, ‘ she has them 
all now/ 

“ ‘ Now ! 9 cried Sybel, in the most fearful accents 
of despair. ‘ What good is it now ? Ten thousand 
roses strewn about her now are not worth the one 
gathered by her own little hand when she wanted 
it, which would have given her pleasure then . Too 
late! Too late! Oh, God, the wheels of time! 
Will they never move backward? Shall I never 
hear again my baby’s voice saying, “ Mummie, may 
I pick one of your roses?” Oh, baby, speak to 
poor mummie and say you know you may have 
them all ! ’ 

“ But the little angel-face was calmly unrespon- 
sive, and the tiny marble hands so lightly clasped the 
rose stems that when the mother’s desperate weeping 
shook the bed the roses those baby hands seemed 
holding dropped from them and fell, unheeded. 

“ Ah, poor breaking heart ! Love’s offering came 
too late.” 


[ 28 ] 


fKjje OTJjeete of GTtme 

The baby’s godmother still kept her eyes on her 
folded hands. The doctor’s wife was crying softly. 

“ Oh, Flower,” the deep, sad voice went on, “ we 
are all apt to make the same terrible mistake. When 
our dear ones have passed beyond all ken of earthly 
pleasure, we send our costly wreaths of rarest 
flowers, striving thus to atone for having denied 
them the one simple blossom which was all they 
asked and needed. Let us learn to give our flowers 
now — now while they can hold and have them; 
now, while they can scent their perfume and enjoy 
their beauty. Oh, child, give Deryck his white rose 
while he asks it of you. A man requires the instant 
fulfilment of his heart’s desires. We women can 
wait. Some of us enjoy the idea of waiting even 
for the wreaths and crosses, though we shall not 
be there to see them. The morbid picturesqueness 
of the idea appeals to us ; but a man wants nothing 
for his cold clay save six feet of honest earth. His 
needs are stronger, simpler, more intense than ours. 
And what he needs, he needs now. When the 
battle is over and won, he will leave the old suit of 
armor behind and forge ahead to pastures new. 
Stand by him now, in the din and the dust and the 
heat, with the cup of cold water he craves. And 
oh, remember, the wheels of time go forward, 
[ 29 ] 


)t GUfjeete of ULim 


always ; backward, never. I want you to be spared 
the agony of vain regret.” 

The baby’s godmother ceased speaking and looked 
up. The lines were hard and ugly about her mouth 
and eyes, but the eyes themselves were soft and 
infinitely tender. 

Flower rose and, stooping, kissed her gently. 

“ I wish he had proposed to you,” she said ; “ you 
would have done better for him. But as it was I 
he wanted, I must do my best, and I will go to 
Brighton.” 

Then slowly, with bent head, she left the room. 

The baby’s godmother sat lost in thought for 
many minutes. It had cost her much to say what 
she had said, and she felt doubtful how long the 
impression she had made would endure. Each heart 
must pass through the furnace for itself. To hear 
of the refining of others has no lasting effect on 
the heart’s own alloy. 

She knew this, and her thoughts followed Flower 
anxiously. At length she rose, and stood leaning 
her elbow upon the mantelpiece and looking long 
at an old miniature of the doctor, placed there 
among Flower’s special treasures; but the doctor 
before Flower knew him, the doctor as he was in 
years gone by, when he and the baby’s godmother 

[ 30 ] 


W&t SUfjeete of STirne 


were faithful chums, and she was his trusted con- 
fidante and the sharer of all his hopes and ambitions. 
So she stood looking into the bright, dark eyes of 
a very young man, a man with all the best of life 
before him, full of a noble courage, an unfaltering 
faith in his ideals, an intellect which should carry 
him anywhere he willed to go. A smile of conscious 
power curved the lips. There was no hint of 
weariness about the keen, clear eyes. 

The baby’s godmother took it up and laid it in 
the palm of her large hand. Then she spoke to it 
softly. 

“ Oh, Boy ! ” she said, “ oh, Boy ! 1 have done 
my best for you. I would always have given you 
all I had to give. But you wanted loveliness and 
1 could only give you love. You have the loveliness 
and now you are sighing for the love. God send 
you that, my dear — my dear. Oh, Boy! I have 
done what I could.” 

She put the portrait down and turned away as 
the door opened suddenly to admit the doctor’s 
wife, breathless. 

“ Jane, such a nuisance ! Madame Celestine has 
arrived. I entirely forgot the appointment. My 
gown for the next Drawing-room, the final fitting 
— oh, such a dream ! Come up and see, and help 
[ 31 ] 


GMfjeete of Wimt 


and advise. You old darling, what a blessing to have 
you here ! I never can be firm with Celestine.” 
***** 

The luncheon gong had sounded punctually as 
the clock struck one. The baby’s godmother had 
waited, restlessly, ten minutes and then received a 
message not to wait, Mrs. Brand would be down 
from the workroom shortly. 

Tailor-made, booted, and hatted, ready for her 
journey into Norfolk, Jane helped herself to cold 
chicken and salad, and kept her eye on the clock, 
remembering “two sharp.” 

“ If she comes down quite ready she can do it,” 
thought the baby’s godmother, and turned her 
healthy attention to apple-tart and custard. 

The door opened and the doctor’s wife trailed in, 
in a teagown. 

“ Dear Jane, I apologize. But I knew my absence 
would not impair your appetite, and you should not 
have left me until that good creature had gone. 
The restraint of your presence removed, she launched 
out into fresh suggestions, and wheedled me into 
having a gown for the Devonshire’s big squash, 
though I had meant to go in my Paquin. How 
beautifully you carve, my dear, or did Stoddart do 
it for you? This fowl looks as if it had been 


tEfte OTfjeete of Him 

handled by a man and an expert. Now, I fear, / 
am going to make it look as if it had crossed the 
road in front of a motor-car. What on earth are 
you gazing at ? ‘ My pretty Jane, my dearest Jane, 
oh, never look so shy ! ’ trilled the doctor’s wife. 
“ Is anything wrong with the custard ? ” 

“ Flower ! How are you to be ready at 2 
sharp, when here it is 1.45 and you in that flimsy 
teagown?” 

“ My dear, I am not going. It is always wisest 
to adhere to first plans. I should love to go, but I 
could not possibly be ready now, and I cannot feel 
it right to leave the children when nurse — ” 

The door opened quickly and the doctor came 
in. 

“ Dearest!” cried Flower, “lunch after all? If 
only I had known you were coming I would have 
saved a wing — ” 

“No,” said the doctor, brightly, “no time for 
lunch to-day, and I hardly ought to have come 
upstairs. I have one more patient to see, and my 
hansom is at the door. But I wanted to say good- 
bye, dear, and also to say — ” he dropped his voice 
slightly — “ don’t worry about not having been able 
to come. It was selfish of me to ask it of you, 
Flower. And then I remembered, too, Jeanette was 
[ 33 ] 


W&t OTfjeete of Ctme 

going home to-day, so I ran up to bid her good-bye, 
a longer farewell than ours.” 

He went round the table and held out his hand 
to the baby’s godmother. 

“ Good-bye, Jeanette. My love to all at home. 
Look us up again when you can. And thank you 
for all your loving-kindness to me and mine.” 

The baby’s godmother rose, and her hand went 
firmly home to his. Their eyes were almost on a 
level as they stood together. 

“ Good-bye, Boy,” she said. “ Don’t overwork. 
Rest whenever possible. And remember, you and 
yours are always dear to me. Let me do all I can.” 

A half-puzzled, half-pleased look leaped into his 
eyes at sound of the old name. It was many years 
since she had used it. He held her hand and looked 
at her with steady scrutiny for a moment. She 
met his gaze full and clear. She had nothing to 
hide. 

“ Good-bye, dear,” said the doctor, then turned 
to his wife, and hesitated. 

“ Good-bye, Flower,” he said, rather wistfully. 

Flower objected to any demonstration in public. 
She waved her napkin. 

“ Good-bye, my lord,” she said, “ and while you 
are gallivanting about at Brighton, please remember 

[ 34 ] 


tEfje OTfjeete of fEtme 

your poor, little domesticated wife staying at home 
to tend house and children. ,, 

The door closed sharply behind the doctor. The 
baby’s godmother bent over her plate in silence. 
The doctor’s wife laughed, moved round the table 
to cut a slice of cake, laughed again, rather mirth- 
lessly, then reiterated all the reasons why it was 
unreasonable of Deryck to have asked her to go to 
Brighton, and of Jane to have made such a point 
of her acquiescing, concluding with, “ And why do 
you call him ‘ Boy ’ ? Such a silly, inappropriate 
name! And, oh, I wish I had gone! I hear his 
hansom. What a hateful world ! ” 

* # # * # 

Eight o’clock in the evening. 

The soft, green curtains were drawn in Flower’s 
boudoir, shutting out the chill of the spring night 
air. The electric light, shining through water-lilies, 
gleamed, soft and bright, from walls and writing- 
table. Flower had turned on every spray, hoping 
to lighten with exterior brightness the heavy shadow 
of disappointment and foreboding which had fallen 
upon her heart. 

Since the doctor’s hansom had tinkled rapidly 
away towards Victoria, all had gone wrong with the 
doctor’s wife. 


[ 35 ] 


QTfje OTfjeete of Ctme 

*orsjD--arjEi^»sjB^t>r , v>c-^jrsa>^3r^js^Qrvj£>^5rs^'ar^£i^tsrvJD^ 

The baby’s godmother, who had had so much to 
say in the morning, became absolutely monosyllabic, 
and conversation languished and died. 

It was a relief to see her depart, with her neat, 
gentlemanly luggage, for Liverpool Street Station, 
and yet it seemed desolate without her, and the klip- 
klop of her rapidly receding hansom made a second 
sound to be added to the series of knells which 
should ring in Flower’s heart that day. 

Turning from the hall-door, she ran up to the 
nursery, to find out at what hour nurse wished to 
be free for her outing, and found it was to-morrow 
for which nurse had asked, not to-day. Nurse was 
quite sure she had said Wednesday ; how could she 
have said Tuesday, when the married niece to whom 
she was going always went out to tea on Tuesdays 
with her mother-in-law in Pimlico ? But, of course, 
Master Deryck was hammering at the time, which 
may have accounted for his mamma not rightly 
catching the day. Emma came forward, a ready 
witness to the fact that nurse had most certainly 
said Wednesday, and stuck to her guns, in spite of 
Dicky’s quiet little voice asserting gravely from the 
position he had taken up at his mother’s side, 
“ You had gone down for the milk.” 

So the doctor’s wife retreated in discomfiture 

[ 36 ] 


®be OTfjeete of Ci'rne 


and trailed slowly downstairs, facing the fact that 
the one reason which had seemed an insuperable 
obstacle to her falling in with her husband’s wish 
and plan had been a mistake, a stupid, careless 
mistake. 

What would Jane say if she knew ? 

The tersely expressed remark with which Jane 
would most likely define the situation came into 
her mind, and she smiled a wan little smile, for the 
doctor’s wife possessed “ the saving sense of humor.” 

Then she felt more cheerful, rang and ordered the 
motor, and dressed for a spin in the park. But 
everything spoke of Brighton and the enjoyment 
she might have had with the doctor on this lovely 
day. 

The sun was almost warm, and there was a 
pursuing scent of violets in the air. The crocuses 
were shouting to the sparrows, and the many- 
colored hyacinths pushed their bright heads up 
through the brown earth, obedient to the beckon- 
ing of the sunshine. The whole park sang of 
springtime, of life and love and joys to come. 
And she longed for him beside her, with his keen 
enjoyment, with his quick way of pointing out a 
fresh beauty which she might otherwise have over- 
looked, with his knack of making you feel that you 
[ 37 ] 


®f)e OT&eelsf of JEtrne 

were alive, and living every minute to the full, re- 
ceiving all it had to give, and above all with the 
ever kindling adoration of his love wrapping her 
round and making her feel herself to be good and 
beautiful and worthy. 

This afternoon she sadly needed reinstating in her 
own esteem. She knew she was being unjust to 
herself, but she felt selfish and inadequate and 
unworthy of him and of his love. It was Jane 
who had given her this uncomfortable feeling. It 
was odious of Jane to call him “ Boy ” and to 
pretend to understand his needs better than she, 
his own wife, did. Oh, if only she had gone to 
Brighton ! If only she had gone ! But it was not 
her fault that she had been unable to fall in with 
the plan at so short notice. Deryck himself had 
admitted that it was he who was to blame, and she 
was not to worry. It was all very well for men 
to tell poor, anxious women not to worry. He 
might have known she would be wondering all the 
rest of the day how he was faring at Brighton, 
whether he was too tired to eat and too tired to 
sleep. If only horrid old royal people would die 
at once when they fell ill, instead of causing all this 
fuss and trouble. ... It would be a great pity 
to be too tired to eat at the Metropole, where 

[ 38 ] 


W&t OTfjeete of Sftrne 

the table d'hdte dinner was so perfect. ... It was 
trying of Deryck to rush off with only a packet 
of sandwiches in his bag, when, by taking five 
minutes more from his tiresome patients, he might 
have had the wing of a chicken and some salad. . . . 
What a good lunch Jane had made! If she had 
really been so troubled at the thought of Deryck 
going off alone she would hardly have hurried into 
the dining-room the moment the gong sounded 
and given her mind so completely to her food. 
Jane was the sort of person who enjoyed putting 
other people in the wrong. So different to Deryck, 
who saw at once where the blame really belonged 
and never laid it upon others. Which was it most 
right to believe — Deryck or Jane? Deryck, of 
course. Then why feel condemned any longer ? 
. . . How lovely it would have been at Brighton! 
A selfish person would have gone at once and not 
have been so considerate for tiresome old nurse 
with her changeable plans. People who change 
their plans without any adequate reason do not 
deserve much consideration. If she had been a 
less devoted mother — How sweet it was of Dicky 
to point out that Emma had gone down for the 
milk ! So like Deryck, who never would allow her 
to be unjustly put in the wrong. It was wonderful 
[ 39 ] 


OTfjeete of QZimt 


to be so loved by two such natures, father and son. 
A woman who was selfish or unworthy could never 
have drawn out such love. Jane was not in the 
least likely ever to marry. How disgusting of her 
to speak so approvingly of married women who 
ran after Deryck. Perhaps, after all, one of those 
creatures would happen to be at the Metropole this 
evening and would insist upon dining with him at 
a table for two. 

Another wan little smile flitted across Flower’s 
face. The dimple the doctor loved peeped out. 
She knew so exactly how he would feel and look, 
and how he would describe the whole occurrence to 
her afterwards, giving her unconsciously the gratify- 
ing certainty that in her absence no other woman 
could by any possibility usurp her place. 

The gliding motion of the car made her drowsy. 
She leaned back with closed eyes enjoying the sen- 
sation of speeding forward trusting to the deft 
vigilance of her chauffeur, not even seeing for 
herself the possible collisions avoided, the rapid 
half-turn which meant gliding from danger into 
safety. 

The roar of traffic on the distant thoroughfare 
sounded like the breaking of the waves on the 
beach at Brighton. She fancied herself driving 

[ 40 ] 


Kf)e OTfjeete of HZimt 

along the King’s Road, alighting at the Metropole 
and meeting Deryck, to whom she would say, 
‘‘Dearest, I came after all.” 

The sudden slowing of the car aroused her. They 
were held up for a moment in a cross-stream of 
carriages near the main gate. She opened her eyes 
and they fell upon a man and woman close by, 
sitting side by side in a victoria. The woman had 
a spray of white roses on her muff. Her com- 
panion bent towards her with a whispered word. 
She instantly detached a milk-white bud from the 
rest and handed it to him. Her look of blissful, 
submissive love as she did this reached to the 
motor as an enlightening beam. The man took 
the rose and fastened it carefully in his button- 
hole without any expressed thanks, but, as he leaned 
back in the carriage beside her, his look of restful 
and masterful possession of herself and all she pos- 
sessed seemed fully to content the woman. Her 
eyes and lips smiled tenderly, and lifting the white 
roses she laid them for a moment against her cheek. 

“ Home,” said the doctor’s wife, suddenly ; and 
as the car turned obediently and sped out at the 
gate the voice of the baby’s godmother seemed to 
pursue her relentlessly : “ Give Deryck his white 
rose while he asks it of you. A man requires the 
[411 


Gtfje OTfjeel* of Qtimt 

instant fulfilment of Us heart's desires. When he 
needs a thing , he needs it NOW ! ” 

Ah, Jeanette, you were very faithful and you did 
what you could. 

* * * * * 

Arrived at home, the doctor’s wife had tea in 
company with one or two choice spirits who dropped 
in to discuss the reception at Myra Ingleby’s and 
the coming big affair at the Devonshire’s, and much 
interest was aroused by the fact that the doctor’s 
wife was not going in her Paquin, but was to have 
an absolutely new creation by that clever old dear, 
Celestine. 

After all, Jane, with her attention fixed upon 
apple-tart and her mind so completely, blankly 
unsympathetic, was enough to depress anybody. 
Deryck would be the first to be indignant, if he 
knew what Jane had said. 

Her visitors gone, she rang for the children, and 
the promised game of menagerie began, though 
their small minds had leaped to something else, 
which they assured her they would like much better. 
But she insisted on the menagerie, rapidly pulling 
all the stuffed animals out of the toy cupboard and 
hurrying them into the middle of the room. She 
felt unable to endure that no part of the programme 

[ 42 ] 


Wot Wheels of fEtme 

she had explained to Deryck should take place, and 
for many years to come the children used to speak 
between themselves of menageries as “ mother’s 
favorite game.” 

All went well for a time. She enjoyed sitting on 
the soft carpet, with Blossom rolling over her, a 
creamy billow of cashmere and lace, and small 
Deryck in his black velvet suit, with his neat little 
black silk legs and buckled shoes, gravely marshall- 
ing the animals and explaining the mental condition 
of each, their relation to one another, and their past 
and present experiences. 

But by and by he began asking awkward ques- 
tions about Noah’s Ark and would not be put off 
with evasive answers. The doctor’s wife felt help- 
less. She knew little of animals, less of ships, and 
nothing whatever of ancient preachers of righteous- 
ness. A complete and comprehensive knowledge 
of all three would have been required, satisfactorily 
to answer Dicky’s questions. Harassed and worried, 
she entrenched herself hastily in what appeared to be 
an impregnable position. 

“ My dear little boy, how can I possibly tell ? 
I was not there” 

Deryck, the younger, was arranging that a 
bear who could only sit — who had been born 
[ 43 ] 


XZTfje OTdjeete of 


sitting and stiffened in that position — should 
ride, in the procession, on the wide back of an 
elephant. 

But he stopped the procession at this, sat the bear 
down, and came and stood opposite his mother, 
surveying her gravely, with his hands deep in the 
pockets of his velvet breeches. She sat on the floor 
beside the sofa, her lovely head thrown back against 
a cushion, looking up at him with eyes full of love 
and almost wistful tenderness. • 

His little face at first was rather hard and stern, 
but, as he looked at her, it softened. Her ignorance 
of Noah’s domestic arrangements seemed to matter 
less. She was so lovely that it seemed unreasonable 
to expect her to be other things ! 

“ You are not much use at answering questions, 
darling, are you ? ” he said gravely. “ I must let 
the point stand over until father comes home. 
You see, you never seem to know about anything 
you have not done yourself.” 

“Dicky, you are not kind to poor mummie,” 
protested Flower, piteously. “ No one could possibly 
know what Noah did to the animals in the Ark 
when the large ones trod upon the small ones, or 
how the elephant was kept from stepping on the 
grasshopper.” 


[ 44 ] 


OTfjeete of Utirnt 

“ An average person would know,” Dicky insisted 
coldly. 

“ Dicky, you are most unkind ! You imply that 
I am stupid.” 

“ I am afraid you are, darling,” said the quiet 
little voice, and then, in a sudden burst of admira- 
tion, “ But you are much too lovely for it to 
matter.” And the miniature edition of the doctor 
fell upon her and clasped her in his arms. 

“ We must say our text to you, mother, as father 
is away,” Dicky remarked a few minutes later, 
when bedtime came. 

Flower assented without enthusiasm. She did 
not approve of nurse’s plan of teaching the children 
a daily text, and always wondered why Deryck 
encouraged it. But she did not wish again to pre- 
sent herself to her little son’s mind in a disappointing 
light. 

Dicky arranged Baby Blossom “ in a row ” with 
himself. She immediately began to say, “ Do it — 
do it ! ” and had to be sternly hushed by her brother. 
Then, with his hands behind him and his head erect, 
Dicky announced impressively : 

“ Jesus said : 1 If you shall ask anythink in my 
name, I will ’ — now, baby — ” 

“ Do it ! ” chirped Baby Blossom. 

[ 45 ] 


tEf )t ®Hf)eel« o£ ®ime 


“ Very nice,” commented Flower, perfunctorily. 

Baby Blossom, her duty done, took a header into 
the soft sofa-cushion, shrieking with delight and 
waving her plump little legs in the air. Deryck, 
though deserted, kept his place in the “row.” 
He had not yet finished with the text. 

“ Do you consider it true, mother? ” he questioned, 
and his dark eyes searched her face. 

“ Why — well — yes, dear, I suppose so,” 
answered Flower, vaguely. “ Baby, take care ! 
You will break your neck ! ” 

“What does ‘anythink’ mean?” inquired 
Dicky. 

“You should not say ‘ an y think ’ ; it is my thing” 

“ It is an ythink in nurse’s Bible,” asserted Dicky, 
“and I suppose it means all that comes into your 
head. Anything you can think of.” 

“ I believe,” said Flower, with a sudden inspira- 
tion, “ that it merely refers to the religious experi- 
ences of the apostles.” 

“ Goodness,” said Dicky, in nurse’s best manner 
when arguing with Marsdon, “ then why don’t it 
say so ? ” Adding, almost immediately, in his own 
quiet, rather sad, little voice, “ And what good is it 
to us then, mummie ? ” 

“ None whatever,” replied Flower, with decision, 

[ 46 ] 


Gtfje TOfjeete of QKme 

rising from the floor and hugging baby. She felt 
she was scoring now and reasserting her mental 
superiority. “ That is why I object to people 
teaching such words to children,” she remarked 
from among Blossom’s curls. 

The small Deryck was silent. He stood very 
erect and gave a sharp pull to the front of his little 
white waistcoat, swallowing hard, as if something 
had hurt him. Flower felt slightly uncomfortable 
at being thus suddenly left with the last word. 
Dicky was so very masculine, and she was not at 
all sure of her own theology. 

The silence, growing strained, was relieved by the 
advent of nurse, who carried off Baby Blossom and 
bade Dicky make haste and say good -night to his 
mamma and come along. He turned to her gravely. 
“ Good-night, mother,” he said. 

Flower embraced him effusively and suggested 
a visit to the Zoo, now the warm weather was 
coming. Dicky allowed himself to be kissed, but 
ignored the remark about the Zoo. When he 
reached the door he turned and looked back 
bravely. 

“Mother,” he said, “I don’t know about the 
’postles, but I think I ought to tell you that I have 
made that text my hown. Nurse says you an 
[ 47 ] 


)t WLtytlsi of Kimt 


always make a text your hown if it meets your 
need. I feel this meets my need ! ” 

He held his head bravely, though flinching a little, 
as if dreading his mother’s scorn or laughter. 

But Flower did not laugh. She looked across 
the room at the brave little figure, in blank aston- 
ishment. The sincerity of his convictions reached 
and convinced her. But what an ignorant old Puri- 
tan nurse must be. At last she smiled at Dicky, 
reassuringly. 

“ That may be true, darling. But my dear little 
boy, you have n’t any * needs.’ ” 

“Oh, have n’t I ! ” said Dicky, as one who would 
say, “That is all you know!” Then taking hold 
of the outer handle he drew the door slowly behind 
him, turning, before it quite closed, to fling back 
over his shoulder, “ I need an entirely new inside 
to my rabbit.” 

Left alone another remark of Dicky’s returned 
to Flower’s mind and added to her despondency. 

“You never seem to know about anything you 
have not done yourself,” her little son had said, and 
this assertion let in a sudden light of revelation upon 
her whole mental standpoint. How true it was, 
how sickeriingly, horribly true! 

What did she know of Deryck’s work ? Of all 

[ 48 ] 


fEfje OTjjeete of Ctme 


the people who came and went in the rooms below ? 
Of the lectures he gave, or the essays he wrote, 
eagerly attended, eagerly read by hundreds ? What 
share had she in the great interests of her husband’s 
life ? Jane had tried to speak of them more than 
once, and she had changed the subject. 

And sitting there, deeply convicted by the grave 
little voice of her own tiny boy, she remembered 
times when Deryck had tried to talk to her of these 
questions so near his heart — of the methods he 
had thought out for curing diseased or weakened 
wills, for restoring shattered nerves and unbalanced 
brains, for giving a new lease of sane and healthy 
life to those who now walked fettered in the valley 
of a shadow worse than death. And she had taken 
no interest, had not tried to understand, had lis- 
tened without hearing, and, at the first oppor- 
tunity, talked of her own trivial doings. Was 
not an intelligent sympathy with his work one 
of the white roses for which Deryck well might 
ask ? 

Slowly she passed to her bedroom and dressed for 
the evening’s function, wishing all the while that 
she need not go, and partook of an early dinner 
alone, with her thoughts far away. Now it was 
eight o’clock and she sat in her boudoir waiting 
[ 49 ] 


GTfte OTfjeete of QZimz 


until it should be time to be whirled through the 
noisy, lighted streets, to join the gay throng at 
Myra’s crush. 

Oh! how different to have walked on the pier 
with him, nestling into her furs, enjoying the cold 
night air and salty smell of brine and seaweed ! And 
then to have returned to their warm, bright room, 
Deryck, pleased as any schoolboy, to have her 
away without her maid, amusing her by his delight- 
ful attempts to take Marsdon’s place and assist at 
her toilet. 

The fire, which had received so much unconscious 
attention from the baby’s godmother that morning, 
fell together in the grate, signifying its need of coal. 
The doctor’s wife rose and ministered to it, then 
knelt on .the hearthrug and watched the brightening 
flame. Her mind had gone forward in its con- 
templation of that evening which might have been. 
Her eyes were soft and tender. Her sweet lips 
parted gently. Her hair gleamed golden in the 
firelight. 

How wonderful was his love! Jane was right 
when she said, “He will always be a boy where 
he loves. He is so young in heart, so eternally, 
passionately young.” How did Jane guess it ? Only 
she, his wife, could know it to be true. 

[ 50 ] 


W&t OTfjeete of fETirne 


Seven years of married life had only added to 
the wonder and romance of Deryck’s love. Each 
time he took her away with him was like a fresh 
honeymoon, more perfect than the last. Why did 
she forget when she came home how sweet it was 
to be away with him? Why had she defrauded 
herself and him of the perfect hours which might 
have been theirs this day ? Why had she failed him 
in his time of need ? 

Oh, selfish! shallow! self-absorbed! Loving to 
be loved, not rising to the joy of loving. Taking 
his care and thought and adoration as her due, 
giving no tender service in return. She bowed 
her head upon her arms. 

“Oh, Boy,” she said, “not Jane’s, but mine! 
Oh, Boy, it shall be different! You will come 
back to find a wife who understands, a wife whose 
hands are filled with roses white, ready to give 
them now.” 

The doorbell sounded. She rose and wrapped 
her cloak about her. She had little inclination for 
Myra’s party, but he would be thinking of her 
there, and anywhere would do to pass the hours till 
his return. 

Stoddart brought in a telegram, retired softly, and 
closed the door. She looked at it with a sudden 
[ 51 ] 


VLl )t GiJfjeete of flTtme 


thrill of comprehending joy. A good-night mes- 
sage from Deryck? He nearly always sent her 
one. Ah, if she had remembered to do the same 
for him! She glanced at the clock. Twenty min- 
utes past eight. Too late to get one through. 

She slipped off her cloak and sank into an easy- 
chair, holding the unopened message in her hand. 
She wished to realize to the full the newness of 
what it meant to receive words from him. Then, 
when her heart was ready, she opened the orange 
envelope gently and drew out the folded paper. 

It seemed a long message. She read it through 
once. She read it through again. Then she sat 
quite still and listened to the ticking of the clock. 
Then she looked at it again and heard a frightened 
voice, not unlike her own, reading it aloud. 

From the Commissioner of Police , Brighton. 

Regret to announce Dr. Deryck Brand knocked 
down by motor-car corner King's Road. Killed 
instantly . Wire instructions. 

She rose and walked forward to the door. It opened 
as she reached it, and Stoddart stood before her saying 
the brougham waited. She waved him aside. 

“ I shall not want it to-night, thank you.” 

[ 52 ] 


Wf)e WL\)ttl$ of ®tme 

She passed into her room and closed the door. 
The electric light over her dressing-table shone 
brightly. She switched it off. Then, in the utter 
darkness, she felt her way to the empty bed, his 
bed and hers, laid down the telegram upon it, 
and stood quite still. 

“ O God,” she whispered, “help me to think. . . . 
I am not clever. My little boy thinks me stupid, 
and my big boy thinks me lovely ; but Thou knowest 
my loveliness seems to me but filthy rags. But 
now, in my hour of need, oh, merciful God, let me 
think! There is something I want to remember. 
Ah ! ” she almost shrieked, “ the wheels of time ! 
the wheels of time ! Never move backwards, 
they say; always forwards — always forwards. And 
that is why it is too late. O God, too late, too 
late! My roses ready — ready for him; but too 
late. . . . What did the children say : ‘ If ye 
shall ask anything in my name, I will do it.' And 
Dicky says anything means anything we need. 
God in heaven ! I need the wheels of time to move 
back six hours, that I may go with him.” 

She flung herself upon her knees beside the 
bed. 

“ O God, O God, in Jesus’ name, put back the 
wheels of time, that I may go with him ! ” 

[ 53 ] 


Qtfje OTfjeete of fEtrne 

She shrieked, then crammed the quilt into her 
mouth, lest they should hear and find her there. 

“ O God, O God — in Jesus’ name — the 
wheels of time — back — back — that I may go 
with him!” 

She tore down her lovely hair and wound it round 
her hands. The pain kept her from swooning, 
helped her to think. 

“ O God in heaven, in Jesus’ name — put back 
the wheels of time — that I may go with him. If ye 
shall ask anything — ‘ anything ’ means anything, 
Dicky; not mere religious experiences, but any- 
thing we want ! O God, 1 want another chance ! 
Back — back — that I may go with him!” 

Then she knelt very still, deathly still, while her 
heart thundered in her ears and the room rocked to 
and fro. But she clung to the bedclothes and knelt on. 

The street door banged. She heard a step come 
up the stairs. 

She cried again : “ O God, O God — the wheels 
of time — back — back ! ” 

The door opened and closed. Someone stood just 
within, breathing quickly, listening intently. 

Then the doctor’s voice said : “ In the dark, my 
darling? Why, what is the matter?” And the 
room flashed into light. 

[ 54 ] 


Gtfje Wl\) eels of Kim 

“ O God,” she said, “ O God ! The wheels of 
time — turned back — that I — may go — with him!” 

His arms were round her, he had lifted her bodily 
and placed her on the bed. His face was shocked and 
startled. He unwound the lovely hair from the clenched 
hands and noted how much of it fell away in scat- 
tered wisps to the floor. He wiped the blood from 
those sweet lips, bitten through. Then he knelt down, 
gathered her to his heart, and spoke very gently. 

“ Flower, my Flower ! Something has frightened 
you. You have had a shock. But it is all right, 
now, my heart’s dearest. 1 have come back to you. 
Listen, beloved. I was so pleased, because 1 got 
through the consultation earlier than I thought and 
found, if I made a dash for it, I could just catch the 
fast train up. I dined on board — listen, Flower! 
Don’t keep on whispering, child. Never mind the 
wheels of time. Listen to me ! I meant to hurry 
home and dress, and give you a surprise by turning 
up at Myra’s. But then I felt too chilled and deter- 
mined I must stay at home and have a brew of gruel. 
Some other chap, in a hurry — a doctor who left 
before me — went off with my overcoat, and I had 
to turn out without one. No time to make inquiries. 
Such a cold fellow has come back to his little girl. 
Won’t she see about warming him ? ” 

[ 55 ] 


Efje OTfjeete of {Same 

The gay voice ceased. The set face bent over 
her. The quick professional eye noted each rigid 
muscle of that poor agonized face. He laid his lips 
on hers, with one broken sob. 

“ Oh, my beloved ! For God’s sake — ” 

Then Flower lifted up her hand and pointed to 
the foot of the bed. He looked and saw the open 
telegram. Reaching with one long arm, he took 
it up and read it. 

“Good heavens!” he said. “Run down and 
killed! The poor chap who took my coat. My 
pocketbook was in it, and a bundle of letters.” 
Then he bent over his wife once more, and whispered 
in a tone of awed wonder : 

“ Oh, Flower ! You cared like this ? ” 

And the wonder in his voice, the almost boyish 
surprise, saved Flower. 

She turned her face to his breast and wept and 
wept ; wept herself to calmness, and sobbed herself 
back into the haven of his love, the earthly Paradise 
of her heart’s peace. 

When at last she found speech possible, she said, 
“ If I had gone — ” 

“ Hush, my own perfect one,” the doctor said. 
“ You were quite right.” 

But she laid her hand over his mouth, with a 
[ 56 ] 


®fje OTfjeete of fEtme 

swift, silencing gesture, then took his hand and kissed 
it, with infinite humility and tenderness. 

“ Deryck,” she said, “ it is your love which has 
been perfect. I have been quite wrong. But God 
in His infinite mercy has heard my prayer and given 
me another chance. Oh, my beloved, I have but a 
poor white rose to offer you — a crushed and faded 
thing; but it is all your own. Give me another 
chance — oh, Deryck — a chance to serve. It is all 
I ask, it is all I want — to serve ; because now, indeed, 
I truly love.” 

Then the doctor knew that at last life held for 
him all that his heart had craved through hungry 
years. 

“ Mary,” he said, “ oh, Mary ! ” 

He dropped his head upon her breast, in sudden 
silence, and her white hands, like roses, clasped it 
softly and lay upon the darkness of his hair. 


[ 57 ] 


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